sure," retorted Mr. Wetherell, somewhat angrily.

Mr. Bixby appeared hugely to enjoy the joke.

"So I callated," he cried, still holding Wetherell's hand in a mild, but
persuasive grip. "So I callated. Guess I done you an injustice, Will."

"How's that?"

"You're a leetle mite smarter than I thought you was. So long. Got a
leetle business now--you understand a leetle business."

Was it possible, indeed, for the simple-minded to come to the capital and
not become involved in cabals? With some misgivings William Wetherell
watched Mr. Bixby disappear among the throng, kicking up his heels
behind, and then went upstairs. On the first floor Cynthia was standing
by an open door.

"Dad," she cried, "come and see the rooms Uncle Jethro's got for us!" She
took Wetherell's hand and led him in. "See the lace curtains, and the
chandelier, and the big bureau with the marble top."

Jethro had parted his coat tails and seated himself enjoyably on the bed.

"D-don't come often," he said, "m-might as well have the best."

"Jethro," said Wetherell, coughing nervously and fumbling in the pocket
of his coat, "you've been very kind to us, and we hardly know how to
thank you. I--I didn't have any use for these."

He held out the pieces of cardboard which had come in Cynthia's letter.
He dared not look at Jethro, and his eye was fixed instead upon the
somewhat grandiose signature of Isaac D. Worthington, which they bore.
Jethro took them and tore them up, and slowly tossed the pieces into a
cuspidor conveniently situated near the foot of the bed. He rose and
thrust his hands into his pockets.

"Er--when you get freshened up, come into Number 7," he said.

Number 7! But we shall come to that later. Supper first, in a great
pillared dining room filled with notables, if we only had the key. Jethro
sits silent at the head of the table eating his crackers and milk, with
Cynthia on his left and William Wetherell on his right. Poor William,
greatly embarrassed by his sudden projection into the limelight, is
helpless in the clutches of a lady-waitress who is demanding somewhat
fiercely that he make an immediate choice from a list of dishes which she
is shooting at him with astonishing rapidity. But who is this, sitting
beside him, who comes to William's rescue, and demands that the lady
repeat the bill of fare? Surely a notable, for he has a generous
presence, and jet-black whiskers which catch the light, which give the
gentleman, as Mr.